


Care

by waterbird13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Caring Dean, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Pain, Protective Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arms aren't supposed to bend that way.</p><p>Dean's a little anxious about the beating his brother's taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> This is another piece from Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings for injury, blood, and pain. This is hurt/comfort with a more caring Dean than I usually write (considering canon).

Arms aren’t supposed to bend that way, and that’s only the start of the damage. Thirty-seven stitches, four broken ribs, contusions all over. A concussion Dean doesn’t even want to think about.

Sam cried today. From pain. There are things that make Sam cry, but physical pain isn’t often one of them, not since he was a kid.

Setting the arm is probably the worst part, the most painful to bear and to watch. Dean apologizes the whole way through.

“Shh, shh, got'cha, got'cha, Sam,” Dean mutters. Sam just whimpers, brow dripping sweat from the exertion and his lips bitten raw from trying to hold it all in. They are in a motel room, after all. Screaming will attract unwanted attention.

When he’s done patching Sam up, Dean covered in blood, both Sam’s and the monster he killed after the thing hurt his brother. It’s crusting on his skin, but Dean doesn’t think much about cleaning up. He has a higher priority.

Instead, he gets right into the bed with Sam, careful of the arm and the ribs and the cuts and the bruises and every other goddamn thing fucking Sam up at the moment, holding him as close as he can.

Sam needs some sort of comfort after going through the wringer like that, after coming so close to death yet again. Dean, for his part, needs to know that his brother is safe. In his arms. Protected while he can’t take care of himself.

Sam’s still whimpering, crying off and on, tears wet when the pain spikes. Dean’s never been good at the soothing nonsense, but he tries his hardest.

It takes two hours according to the shitty bedside clock before Sam takes a deep breath. “We’re covered in blood.”

“Astute observation, Sherlock,” Dean says, as dry as he can, searching for a tone he can’t quite summon up at the moment.

Sam shoves him lightly with his good arm. “So clean us up,” he says.

“Bossy,” Dean mutters, but he gets up and wets a cloth, coming back to wipe the worst of the blood off their skins. Showers are still a little out of the realm of the possibility.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” Sam asks. His eyes are closed, and he lies back, trusting Dean not to hurt him worse as he gets him clean.

“You okay?”

Sam pauses for a moment. “I will be,” he promises.

And really, that’s all Dean can ask for, he supposes.


End file.
